Switched On
by divine one
Summary: What if their situations were switched? Buffy the Vampire and Spike the Vampire Slayer. Updated and converted from drabbles to a full-fledged story... or the beginning of one!
1. One of A Kinds

**title**: switched on  
**chap 1**: one of a kinds  
**author**: devylish  
**fandom**: BTVS  
**word count**: 1485  
**category**: romance/angst?/mystery?  
**Pairing**: Buffy/Spike Spuffy eventually  
**Rating**: M eventually pg /k now  
**Spoilers**: None really  
**Summary**: double drabble  
**Disclaimer**: we all know I'm not joss. And joss is a god.  
**Note**: Unbeta'd cuz… uh… I donts gots one…

**switched on**

Name's Spike.

It's not my given name, but it's the name I've earned because of my occupation.

I'm a slayer, a Vampire Slayer.

I've been killing the 'fanged beasties' since I was ten…. 'Course, at that age, I didn't know what I was doing, or who they were…, or who 'I' was for that matter.

But even then I felt the tingle: the razors' edge of danger against my nerve endings…. The warning that something malevolent was near; something that thought it was bigger and badder than me.

All slayers have had this sixth-sense; I've just had the pleasure of using mine more often than most.

I, you see, am an unusual object in the slayer world. While slayers in general are a rare breed, male slayers are a fucking anomaly.

The cursed Powers-That-Be informed me years ago that there have only been two other male slayers who survived infancy.

Two.

Well, Mother Nature fucked up again, or blinked, or something… and I was born.

Which makes me 'special'.

Killing Spike the Vampire Slayer has become, more or less, an underworld competition.

Apparently, I'm a fucking platinum-token for any 'Lovely Nasty' who wants to buy his way into the sweet side of Hades.

Ahh well, a man's gotta get his jollies where he can; I get mine defending the innocent, killing the evil, and generally, trying to stay alive.

**switched on**

As Buffy slid on her sunglasses, she glanced up at the grey sky; she bared her human teeth and hissed with quiet disdain. Even on an overcast day like today she was taking a chance being outside at noon – she could feel the sun pricking at her skin through the clouds.

Taking a seat at an awning covered open-café, she relaxed; settling back and watching the scene in front of her.

People.

Lovely. Delicious. Blood-filled people. She sat and she watched as the toned, tender, and baked inhabitants of Sunnydale cluelessly traipsed by her.

She had only been a vampire for 10 years, some would say hardly long enough to shake off the shackles of humanity, but during that time, she had learned more than most vampires learned in 10 decades. And one thing she had learned very early, was to study her prey and his habitat before attacking.

And that explained why she was sitting in an open café, in the middle of the day, in Sunnydale. She was studying the 'natural habitat' of the 'one of a kind' Slayer. Studying him and his habitat before she did what many others had tried -- and all had failed -- to do. Kill him.

Pulling off her black leather gloves and laying them on the table, Buffy settled back against the chair, and beneath the fringe of her bangs and sunglasses, she let her human mask disappear.

**switched on**

"Seriously Slayer, you've gotta stop comin' in 'ere," Willie said as he 'cleaned' a mug with a dirty towel, "you're frightenin' off my customers."

Spike sipped his whiskey and smirked. "Mate, if you're losing business, it's not because of me." Turning around on his stool he faced the entrance of the bar and continued, "if anything, I bring them in here… I'm like fucking demon bait."

Willie grunted non-committedly and shuffled away.

Spike visited Willie's once or twice a week: firstly, the whiskey was strong and cheap, and secondly, his visits sent a message. A slayer who frequented a Demon bar – dared to turn his back to the door in a Demon bar – well, that had to give the Fiends at least a second of thought before they attacked. And a second – that's all Spike asked for – that's all he needed.

Tonight, Spike's visit to Willie's had served a third purpose. He'd collected a little information.

Scarlata, a Demon -- and a friend for a price -- had shared an interesting tidbit with him. It seemed the local Vamp families were 'in a tizzy' because of a new arrival in Sunnydale: A young, sireless, outcast vampire.

Spike had thought he'd sensed something new in the air.

**switched on**

"Johnny! Please, don't! I-I'm sorry!"

"I told you what would happen if you kept back-talking me Tara!" His hand slammed into her ribs.

Buffy dropped silently to the ground behind the man who had his 'girlfriend' pinned to the alley wall. "That's the last time you'll be touching her big boy."

He spun around then barked with laughter when he caught sight of the little 'bitch' who was interrupting his 'girlfriend's lesson'. "Bitch, this is none of your business, get out of here before I break you in two!"

He had barely turned back to Tara when he felt cool, slender hands at his beefy neck. Suddenly, his body was off balance; and he was in those little hands. One was at his neck, the other across his waist, and he was looking into amber eyes. He saw her teeth extend into points as she said, "Didn't your mother ever teach you that you should treat women with more respect?"

She didn't wait for an answer.

Seconds later Buffy released the dead weight of Johnny Dell. She ran her tongue along her lips before lifting her index finger to clean up the stray drops of blood trailing down her chin; she'd been hungry.

Stepping over the scraps of her meal, Buffy faced the frozen, silently screaming Tara Maclay. Sniffing at the woman's neck lightly, Buffy laughed sharply, "Of the two, I'm not the one you should be afraid of, I haven't – and won't – hurt you. I just want to offer you some advice – from 'one girl to another': men are a dime a dozen, find yourself one who doesn't think hitting you is an evenings' entertainment."

**switched on  
**

"Mangus."

"Alfred."

The two men shook hands and sat down across from one another at the council table.

"The other members…?"

"Will be here shortly; I wanted to… align our interests before the meeting started."

"Align our interests? Regarding William the III?"

"His 28th birthday is nearly here."

"Have we seen any signs of the fulfillment of the prophecy?"

"Other than his outliving Jacob the I, and Kenwa the II?" Alfred shook his head and leaned forward. "There have been no clear signs, but," he lowered his voice, "the Daemons at the Hellmouth, they have been unusually restless. Active and 'gathering', but in a barely discernible way -- the Slayer has noticed the swell of activity."

"He doesn't suspect…?"

"…Why? No. He thinks it's just an upswell in the draw the underworld has always had toward him."

"He's not that far from the truth." Mangus reached into his vest pocket and pulled out his pocket watch. Snapping it open, he squinted at the face then snapped it shut and shoved it back in his pocket. "I assume, however, that you didn't call me here early just to tell me that the Hellmouth's natives were getting restless -- or to remind me of the III's upcoming birthday."

"No, indeed I did not." Lowering his voice Alfred continued. "I think I've come up with a plan – a way to ensure that the prophecy falls into place in the Council's favour." Alfred leaned back in the large leather chair and rested his hands on his well-fed belly.

"I though we, the Council, had already formulated a plan to – "

"Ehhh! I don't consider it much of a plan to 'sit and wait and see' what William the III does! No Mangus, we need to be proactive. We need to ensure the Council's livelihood. We need to bring the prophecy – if William is indeed the slayer the scrolls speak of – we need to bring the prophecy to fruition, and we need to make certain that the Slayer doesn't turn against us."

"Do you truly believe he will turn against the Council?"

"The prophecy – all of the damnable prophecies – are as clear as mud. Who, how, why, what – shift like sand – depending on what variables and criteria you start with. What I do know is that William the III has always been, for lack of a better term, a free spirit; he couldn't care two figs for the Council, and only deals with us out of respect for his watcher. Do I think the Slayer could turn on us in the right circumstances if the details of the prophecy aren't handled with kid gloves? _Yes_. Do I fear he will turn against us if he finds out that we have attempted to manipulate him in an attempt to control him or the prophecy? _Yes_. Do I fear he will turn against us if he finds out what hand the Council had in his coming to be?" Alfred settled back in his chair and dropped his voice to a harsh whisper as the other members of the Council began to trail into the room. "Let's just pray that William the III never finds that out."


	2. The Meeting

**title**: switched on  
**chap 2**: the meeting  
**author**: devylish  
**fandom**: BTVS  
**word count**: 1286  
**category**: romance/angst?/mystery?  
**Pairing**: Buffy/Spike Spuffy eventually  
**Rating**: M eventually pg /k now  
**Spoilers**: None really  
**Summary**: What if their situations were switched? Buffy the Vampire and Spike the Vampire Slayer.  
**Disclaimer**: we all know I'm not joss. And joss is a god.  
**Note**: Unbeta'd cuz… uh… I donts gots one…

**switched on**

"Might as well come out. Show yourself. We both know my senses are tingling like hell."

Sunnydale hadn't been living up to its name for the past few days. Instead, she'd been hiding beneath a cloak of grey woolen heat. The fog in and of itself didn't bother Spike – reminded him a bit of England.

No, it wasn't the fog by itself, it was what the fog did. Damn grey brought the Fangies out to play en masse. Happened every time. Gave the 'creatures of the night' a chance to stretch their wings during the daytime instead of just sleeping those hours away.

The fog therefore meant that Spike had to patrol for longer. Today, for instance, he'd already been out for two hours, and it wasn't quite 5p.m. yet.

Sighing, he stopped walking and reached into his jacket for his cigarettes and lighter. Shielding the flame from the afternoon breeze he lit the slender stick. Flicking the lighter shut, he began to walk again; calling out to his unknown companion at the same time. "Come out, come out, whoever you are. Not polite to follow a bloke and not show yourself to him."

From her side of the cemetery fence, Buffy kept pace with the platinum haired slayer; watching his graceful movements. He was slender – wiry – and smooth of motion. She curled up her nose slightly and sniffed; he smelled… he smelled oddly. Like leather, whiskey, cigarettes… the dust of countless vampires. And there was something else, some other odor that she couldn't quite identify that clung to him. Something not fully human.

Shaking her head to clear it of his scent, she decided she would learn more about her nemesis if she 'chatted' with him.

"Sorry Slayer, I've never been known for my politeness."

Spike half smiled, "Ah. Now we're getting somewhere. A voice to go with the tingle." He paused. "Well as you've already admitted you have problems being polite, I'll just let you know that it would truly be polite if you crossed the fence and came a little closer – just so I can see who I'm talking to. Or, if it would make things easier for you, I could come over to your side of the fence."

She laughed, "No. No, but thank you; I think we're fine just as we are."

They trudged along in silence a bit longer. Each on their own side of the cemetery fence; each feeling the other out with their senses.

"So, you're The Slayer, hmm?"

"Yeah. One and only. The Chose One, blah blah blah."

Buffy found herself laughing again. "Nice to know you're taking your role as humanities' savior seriously."

"The job I take seriously. The title? Not so much so."

Coming to the street corner before the vampire did, Spike turned and peered into the fog laden cemetery. All he could make out was a small form, perhaps five feet away from him. A smoky shadow in the grey air.

Halting a few feet away from the slayer, Buffy's amber eyes watched him, as he peered at her, through the metal bars and marble blocks that made up the cemetery fence.

"Tell you what Slayer, I'll let you see my face before we part ways today. But let's talk a bit more first." She began to walk again, and this time, it was he who followed her around the border of the fence.

Spike teased, "And you said you weren't polite!"

"Really I'm not, I'm a bad, bad girl." She grinned, "But that doesn't mean that I don't know how to get what I want."

"I bet you do, Luv. I bet you do." Dropping his cigarette to the ground and stepping on the still glowing embers Spike lifted his hand and straightened his ever present black leather jacket. "So Luv, your name… what is it?"

She hesitated a second before pushing out, "Buffy."

"Buffy?"

"Yes."

"Buffy the Vampire?"

She sighed, "Yes."

"A vampire named, Buffy?"

"A Slayer named, Spike?" She retorted.

"Spike… I 'spike' vampires," he responded. "At least my name bloody well makes sense. What do you do? Spit shine and 'buff' your victims to death?"

He heard her growl.

"It's a family name okay? Blame my mom and dad for it!" She took a calming breath. "Do you do this to all of the vampires you run across? Is this your secret weapon? The reason for you longevity? Your ability to **irritate** them to death?"

It was Spike's turn to laugh. "No. The insults and irritation are more of the 'icing on the cake' kinda thing. Throw a punch, send out an insult. Deliver a kick, deliver a quip. Makes the fights a bit more fun."

"A Slayer who wants to have fun, huh? You know, playing cat and mouse with your food was the first thing I was taught NOT to do. Gives the mouse the actual chance to get away."

"I'll take that into consideration."

They walked along for a few more minutes in companionable, if hyper aware, silence; each of them comfortable with the 'game'; comfortable with the knowledge that THEY were the cat, and the one on the other side of the fence was the mouse.

"Rumor has it, that not only are you the only male slayer to live past 18, but, you're the oldest slayer, of any gender, ever."

"That IS the rumor."

"Your Watcher's Council must be very proud of you; their bleached blond, erh, golden Slayer."

"Proud of me? Hhhnn! They don't know what to make of –," Spike stopped. His relationship with the Council had been rocky, at best, for years. His only allegiance to them remaining through the respect he felt for his watcher, Willow. That being said, he didn't need to share his feelings for the council, or their feelings for him, with a complete stranger. A complete vampiric stranger.

"Actually, to be _polite_ let's not talk about me. Let's talk about you – Buffy: The Woman Behind The Fangs."

Buffy made a mental note of the Slayer's avoidance of the topic of the council. She'd have to do some research on the status of the relationship between the Watcher's Council and this slayer, and see if she could find anything worth using against him.

"The woman behind the fangs, hmm? Well what do you want to know?"

"What line are you from?"

She paused, "Aurelius."

Spike stopped mid-step then continued. "I thought the clan Aurelius had died out."

"Died out?" She laughed again, but this time, there was bitterness in the laughter. "Destroyed. The clan was destroyed. All but two of us." A growl escaped her again as she pictured her great-grandsire, Angelus. Bastard.

"How did it happen? How were they destroyed?"

Buffy didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to think about it. Especially not with her enemy. "I think I'm done being polite now. I'll see you around, Slayer."

"Oi! You said I could see your face if we talked for a bit."

"I lied."

Spike approached the fence as he felt her moving away and using one hand as leverage against the metal bars, he leapt over the gate, landing in a crouch on the other side. He opened his senses, trying to get a feel for which direction the vampiress had headed, but he detected nothing. Nothing but grey.

"Fuck."

Standing up, he jumped back over the fence and reached into his coat for his cigarettes. He would have to see what information Willow could find on the clan Aurelius and their destruction. And he'd also have her see what she could find out about the vampire: Buffy. He had a funny feeling, that this wouldn't be his last encounter with her.


End file.
